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„Hands-On Lessons”

Chapter 1. Pining at the Neon Pulse

My bedroom was a curated museum of who I used to be—or perhaps still was, despite my efforts to evolve. Band posters for Void Lears and Phantom Arena clung to the latte-colored walls, their edges curling like withering petals, while my desk groaned under the weight of Digital Media textbooks competing for space with the anime figurines I'd arranged with meticulous care. Through the window, April rain speckled the glass, casting shifting shadows across my childhood galaxy-print comforter—a relic I should have outgrown but couldn't bring myself to replace. Like so many things in my life, it remained, despite my best intentions to move forward.

I tapped my pencil against the edge of my laptop, staring at the half-finished essay on "The Semiotics of Alienation in Mid-2000s Emo Music Video Aesthetics." Second year at Sunchester College of Arts & Sciences, and I was still living with my parents, still sleeping under the same roof that had sheltered my adolescent dreams and disappointments. The irony wasn't lost on me: analyzing cultural expressions of alienation while experiencing it firsthand, trapped in this liminal space between childhood and whatever came after.

My phone screen lit up with a notification. Juni had posted again. Without thinking—a practiced, shameful reflex—I opened Instagram, and there she was: platinum blonde pigtails flared dramatically against her black jacket, red tie loosely knotted, just enough buttons undone on her white shirt to suggest defiance without revealing too much. Her caption read: "Ready to make tonight legendary! #NeonPulseNight."

Something twisted in my chest. I knew exactly who she was dressing up for, and it wasn't me. It was never me. I scrolled through the comments, seeing Chase's name among the first to respond with a fire emoji. Of course he was quick to notice her. Everyone noticed Juni.

I closed the app and dropped my phone onto the bed, disgusted with myself. What kind of friend lurks on social media, hungry for glimpses of someone who trusts you? But even as shame coursed through me, I couldn't deny the pull she had. It wasn't just her provocative style or the way she carried herself like she owned whatever space she entered—it was her energy, the way she made everything feel like an adventure waiting to unfold.

My reflection in the computer screen stared back: messy black hair falling into eyes that had seen too many late nights, the silver glint of my brow piercing catching the dim light. I wasn't unattractive, I knew that intellectually—but something in me remained guarded, uncertain, perpetually out of step with the rhythm of college life that others seemed to dance to naturally.

I hadn't had a girlfriend since starting at Sunchester. Not for lack of wanting one; my dreams were full of moments I couldn't seem to manifest in waking life—someone to hold, to kiss, to share the peculiar loneliness that persisted even when surrounded by people. But the gap between wanting and having felt unbridgeable. I'd tried dating apps, managed a handful of coffee meetings that fizzled into polite ghosts, their faces blurring together in memory.

And all the while, there was Juni—vibrant, fearless Juni—who'd claimed a piece of my heart without ever trying, without ever knowing.

"You coming tonight?" The text came from her, as if summoned by my thoughts. "Chase says he can get us on the guest list for Neon Pulse. Don't bail on me, Nash!"

I texted back that I'd be there, knowing I'd regret it, knowing I'd go anyway.

The nightclub pulsed like something alive, a beating heart made of strobe lights and synthetic bass. I nursed a lukewarm beer near a corner booth plastered with peeling stickers, watching the crowd sway and surge. The air tasted of spilled drinks and sweet vape smoke, the walls vibrating with cheap subwoofers hidden behind glowing anime murals.

And there they were—Juni with her arm laced through Chase's, her platinum hair catching fractured light as she threw her head back in laughter. Chase leaned down to say something in her ear, and the ease between them was a knife I couldn't deflect. He belonged here, in this pounding, gleaming chaos. His copper hair looked deliberately tousled, his stylish glasses framing features that seemed designed for easy smiles and effortless charm.

I didn't even feel jealousy anymore—just a dull, resigned ache. What was the point of coveting what could never be yours? Juni was as unreachable to me as the moon, and Chase was the kind of guy who collected people like trading cards, valued for the social capital they added to his impressive collection.

I looked around the club, wondering where I might find someone of my own. But the faces blurred together, and every approach seemed doomed before it began. I could script the awkward stumbles in my mind: the halting introduction, the too-eager nod, the inevitable moment when I'd say something strange or fall silent too long, watching interest fade from their eyes.

My mind drifted back to the first day I met Juni. It was during Introduction to Digital Culture, our first term at Sunchester. I'd claimed a back-row seat, headphones still on, a black coffee cooling beside my notebook. She'd slid into the chair next to mine, immediately leaning over to peek at my playlist.

"Void Lears? Nice," she'd said, grinning. "I saw them last summer at Festival East. The drummer threw his sticks into the crowd and hit my friend in the face. She had to get stitches. Best day ever!"

I'd stared at her, thrown by the cheerful delivery of this violent anecdote, but before I could formulate a response, she'd launched into questions about the reading assignment, my thoughts on the lecturer, whether I'd been to the campus coffee shop yet and if their matcha was any good.

And just like that, I had a friend. No effort required, no awkward dance of getting to know each other. She simply decided we were connected, and I wasn't strong enough—or stupid enough—to resist the gravitational pull of her attention.

I watched her now, across the club, her body moving effortlessly to the music. I was grateful for her friendship, even as it tormented me. I knew I didn't deserve to be in her orbit—I was too quiet, too intense, too caught in my own head. But she'd chosen me anyway, and that small miracle kept me tethered to hope, even as I watched her drift towards someone who made more sense for her.

The DJ transitioned to a new track, and the crowd roared in approval. I finished my beer, the glass slippery with condensation, and decided it was time to go home. Tomorrow I'd focus on my essay, on my studies, on anything but the ache in my chest when I thought of the beautiful, cheerful smile that wasn't meant for me.

Chapter 2. The Sushi Night Proposition

The essay submission deadline had passed like a storm front, leaving a strange calm in its wake. Juni's apartment, a chaotic collage of anime posters and half-unpacked cosplay materials, hummed with the quiet energy of post-academic relief. The three of us—Juni, Chase, and I—along with a handful of other Digital Media students, had gathered for what Juni called a "survival celebration," though in reality, it was just an excuse to drink cheap wine and pretend we weren't all thinking about our grades. I found myself in Juni's small kitchen, watching as she attempted to transform rice, seaweed, and assorted fillings into something resembling sushi rolls, her face scrunched in concentration as everything fell apart in her hands.

"This is a disaster," she moaned, holding up what looked like rice with an identity crisis. "The videos make it look so easy! Just roll, press, slice—but it's all just... mush."

I smiled despite myself. There was something endearing about her determination to master a cuisine so far from the instant ramen that formed her usual diet. "Here," I said, stepping closer. "You're pressing too hard. The rice is delicate."

She shifted slightly, making room for me at the cramped counter. "Show me, sensei," she teased, a few strands of her pigtails brushing against my arm as she leaned in to watch.

The proximity sent electricity through me, but I focused on the task, placing the rice on the seaweed with careful pressure. "It's about balance," I explained, my voice steadier than I felt. "Too much force and it falls apart."

Juni's fingers joined mine on the bamboo mat, her skin warm against mine. "Like relationships," she said, surprisingly philosophical for a moment before her usual playfulness returned. "Or so I hear—not that I'd know."

Something in her tone made me glance up. Her expression had shifted, a rare vulnerability replacing her typical confidence. The party sounds from the living room—Chase's distinctive laugh rising above the music—seemed suddenly distant.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Something... personal?"

My heart stumbled. "Of course," I managed.

Juni abandoned the sushi attempt, wiping her hands on a towel. "I think I want to... you know... with Chase." The statement hung between us, heavy with implications.

A cold weight settled in my stomach. I had known, of course, about her interest in Chase—it was obvious in the way she lit up around him, the way she casually touched his arm when she laughed at his jokes. But hearing it stated so plainly felt like confirmation of something I'd been trying to deny.

"Oh," I said, inadequately. "I... I guess that makes sense."

Juni wasn't looking at me now, her focus on the abandoned sushi. "But there's a problem," she continued. "I'm still... I haven't ever..." She huffed in frustration. "I'm a virgin, Nash. And Chase doesn't date virgins."

The statement was so unexpected that for a moment I couldn't process it. "What? How do you... did he tell you that?"

"Not directly," she admitted. "But you know how people talk. Remember Ella from Narrative Design? She told me he broke things off with a girl last term when he found out she hadn't been with anyone before. Said he didn't want the 'responsibility' or something."

I frowned. It sounded absurd, the kind of superficial judgment that made my skin crawl. "That can't be true," I said, though I had no real evidence either way. "And even if it is, it's a ridiculous reason not to date someone."

Juni's eyes met mine, surprisingly serious. "Maybe to you. But it matters to him, apparently. And I really like him, Nash. Like, really like him."

Each word was a small betrayal of my own feelings, but I pushed that aside. "Juni, if he cares about something that trivial, then maybe—"

"It's not trivial to me," she interrupted. "I've been saving it, waiting for the right person. But what if the right person doesn't want me because I waited? Isn't that ironic?"

I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to tell her she deserved better, that Chase's apparent preference was shallow and meaningless. But another part—the part that knew how it felt to want someone who didn't want you back—understood the desperation in her voice.

"I don't think you should change yourself for anyone," I said finally. "Especially not for something like this."

Juni's smile was sad. "Easy for you to say. You've never had to worry about being rejected for something like this."

The assumption stung, though it wasn't entirely wrong. My romantic experiences were limited, but not nonexistent. Still, I hadn't expected the conversation to turn this way, and I felt suddenly exposed, as if she could see through my carefully constructed facade to the loneliness beneath.

"Come on," she said, her normal brightness returning like a mask sliding back into place. "Let's bring this abomination of sushi out to the vultures and see if they're drunk enough to eat it."

We returned to the living room, where Chase held court in the center of the sofa, gesturing animatedly as he recounted some story about a professor's meltdown during a lecture. Everyone was laughing, drawn into his orbit of easy charisma. I watched him with new eyes, wondering what it was like to move through the world so effortlessly, to have people—to have Juni—wanting you without reservation.